the last 24 hours are always the worst
by IzzyandDesRoxSox
Summary: ...how the mighty have fallen, so far, and so hard. / Or, she didn't know she could feel, let alone hurt, this much. After all, you never do realize what you have until it is lost. And god, god, she just wants to hold her baby again. / Very depressing V/D. STRONGLY reccomend you read other story 'something in the midst of it all' first!


the last 24 hours are always the worst

summary: how the mighty have fallen so far, and so hard. / Or, she didn't know she could feel, let alone hurt, this much. After all, you never do realize what you have until it is lost. And god, god, she just wants to hold her baby again. Depressing V/D

a/n: I STRONGLY reccomend you read _'something in the midst of it all'_ before this simply for the mention of an important OC. Oh, and if you don't want a depressing rainy cloud to ruin your sunshine day, well... read it anyway. XD. I love reviews too you know. :3

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**xxx**

Her entire body shakes, especially at her hands that can barely hold a damn thing, her heart racing intensely against her chest. She looks as if she's shuddering from a chill, and yet it's so warm in here. Hot, in fact. Too hot.

_Somebody get this girl out of here before she loses it and kills us all before the bug freaks._

Her mind is trapped in an imaginative state, in desperate need of a reality check. She tries to remind herself of just who she is- and why, she's Jenette Vasquez. Private First Class. In possession of many, _many_ weapons. Hotheaded Spanish blood. Proud. Older sister. Cocky. Courageous. Impatient.

Brave_. ('Too stupidly_ _brave. Just doesn't know when to pick her battles.')_

Reckless. _('Maybe if she'd been just a little more careful with her aim.')_

Her conscience just won't quite as she keeps going down the list and checking each part off. But she's one to get the job done no matter what, and she knows it's for the best to just get this done and overwith. Unbeknownst to her, she clutches onto her red bandana tightly, serving as the only shield from her fingernails digging into the skin of her palms.

Strong. _('On the outside, but maybe this is why you need a reality check...')_

Careless. _('Stop it... not true... stop it...')_

Lover. _(Drake. Drake. Drake. Drake. Stop please. Dammit, stop.)_

Mother.

...

...

...

[That's all it takes to make her sob alone to herself.]

**xxx**

A part of her deep down, a mad, mad, part of her, doesn't want to believe any of this. All of it. Nope, not one bit.

It screams and begs with reality, questioning it, filled with so much endless doubt. She'll shake off the news that just can't seem to get any more worse than what it is now in a very Vasquez-like a manner, but later on when she's by herself she'll ask herself _'No it can't be. Really?'_

Doubt. Doubt. Doubt. Her mind is numb with doubt.

The rescue mission to LV-426 is not a disaster. It can't be, this just can't happen to the Colonial Marines she knows so damn well. How the mighty have fallen, so far, and so hard. _No._ That's just not possible. Mark Drake is _not _dead. No, not him. Anyone but him, just not him. No no no.

This is too unbelivable. Too cruel. The stuff of nightmares, as if this is what they're made of. This _is_ a nightmare of a situation, this she already knows.

A nightmare in which she'll wake up from, now this is just something she keeps telling and trying to convince herself.

**xxx**

If anything, over anything at all period, she just wants her baby.

_Maria._ Vasquez's heart aches everytime she thinks about her one year old daughter, so she does her best to avoid thinking about her. She and Drake were never ones to really wear their hearts on their sleeves, not unless they had the armor to conceal it underneath of course. She was their inner strength, she literally morphed into an actual reason for them to fight.

For her.

When the realization dawns on her about the last time she ever saw her daughter, the last goodbye she ever bid to her, which wasn't even meant to be a goodbye- it just adds on and on, because God just wants to see how much it'll take to make her break. _'Sick bastard.'_ she thought violently and bitterly to herself.

The last time she and Drake ever saw their daughter, it was a disaster. They'd left her at Carmen's house, thinking not much of it. Sure they'd miss the kid, it'd be a little odd that the sound of of their 'alarm clock' would be the Serg's voice and not their daughter's fitful wails, and that they decided just for now on this mission they were somewhat 'professional' and not lovers. Okay, overall things seemed to suck already.

But it was when they left, that was just a _catastrophe_. Maria's large sky blue eyes, her father's eyes, widened in distraught as if she knew what was going. As if she suddenly got a bad feeling as to where her Mommy and Daddy were going, and began to scream like bloody murder. Plying her away from the two people she loved so much, no matter how much she adored her aunt, the two who meant the most, it was like that was killing her.

_"Mama."_ Maria cooed, and the pain just piled on and on in Jenette's heart.

She didn't even know she could feel, let alone hurt, this much. Well she supposes, you never do realize what you have until it is lost. Vasquez by this rate literally wants to kick herself in the ass for failing to realize truly that she had it all.

And god, god, she just wants to hold her baby again. Feel the tiny warm body against her, this one thing made out of her own flesh and blood (and Drake's), the unconditional love this baby harbored for her mother.

And the pain just keeps piling on and on.

**xxx**

She'd be lying if she said she didn't miss Drake.

When she thinks of him, she thinks of, well, him. Pale blond hair, sky blue eyes, cocky smile, husky voice. Calm, cold, confident, and oddly patient. His shitty humor, which as just as bad as hers, and yet amazingly fatherly towards Maria. A whole new, completely different side to him.

When she thinks of him, she thinks of them. Everything about them. The best of friends. Inseparable. Goofy. Counterparts of each other. Daresay, although it meant entering those cheesy zones of romance Vasquez wasn't one for, maybe... maybe meant for each other. Soulmates. How many times had they gotten piss drunk, made love, and told each other sappy bullshit when in that same said state? Just how much did they mean it?

_('All of it. You know this.' her conscience tells her.)_

When she thinks of him, she suddenly thinks of his death. The acid. Her screams. His screams. Pain. Horror. The grievious mutilations. Scars. Leaving him. Oh god, how could she just let them hold her back? How could she just leave him? How many times had he gone through Hell and back to save her ass, and this is how she repays him? She loves him, and she leaves him to die. How could she? Why why why?

When she thinks of him, she thinks it's all her fault.

So she does, but as so ends up failing most of the times, to not think of him.

**xxx**

She decides writing a letter to Maria is the best, and well only available option, at the moment. Just let it out, let her see someday when she's older.

(Because there's this other mad part of her, the polar opposite to the one that wants to believe this is a dream. And it just keeps telling her over and over, _'This is the end. You're going to die here just like the rest.')_

She doesn't look back on it twice either when she finishes. Not even to proofread the damn thing, her hands were shaking too badly as it was to hold the pen straight, how can she even try to look back and perfect a practical fucking _will? !_

And the final step, she entrusts it to Hicks. There's not even an address on the somewhat torn, crumpled, messy cursive handwritten, (possible napkin?) letter- and yet he just knows who it's for. One look into her amber-chocolate brown eyes, and the young Corporal just knows he's now more than just a godfather to Maria, but a delivery boy.

The silent requests ends with an understanding nod.

**xxx**

They say that when Death approaches, you should make the most of it.

But then again, the last 24 hours are always the worst.

**xxx**

In a sense, a part of her was already dead anyways when Gorman held out the grenade. She'd fought, and fought hard as she would, a losing battle.

The piling pain collapsed into a thousand blows to the head-

_('Drake.' the thought would've barely surpassed a whisper if she said it aloud.)_

-and a stab wound to the heart

_('Maria.' would've been a hysterical scream that echoed across Hadley's Hope.)._

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**xxx**

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_End_

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**xxx**

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**Because there wasn't just external conflicts going on in **_**Aliens.**_

**I hope you all enjoyed! There'll be more to come! More light hearted ones, I promise. XD**


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